


El Príncipe Prometido

by arysteia



Category: X-Factor (Comics), X-Force (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 05:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysteia/pseuds/arysteia
Summary: A little bit of downtime in Mexico, in between all the superheroing.





	El Príncipe Prometido

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VanaTuivana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanaTuivana/gifts).



> For VanaTuivana, for the prompt "time off, on vacation or at home, doing chores or just sitting around watching TV together". I hope you enjoy it!

When the last remnants of the Richter cartel are cleared out of Oaxaca, Shatterstar announces, unprompted and without consultation, that they're taking the summer off. Rictor wants to protest that they're not _students on break_ , but in truth he's exhausted himself, and if even Star is getting tired then maybe it's for the best. They've been on the go for almost a year, to the point where it's become a routine they could follow in their sleep: track a gun shipment, find the exchange drop, kick some butt, move on to another town and do it all over again. Star took a bullet in the shoulder in the last encounter, though, and while his healing factor took care of it within a few hours, it had still freaked Rictor out; small time hoods from a _village_ like Arrazola should never have gotten the drop on them.

Yeah, it'll do them both some good to have a break, rest up for the final confrontation. They've been avoiding Jalisco and the Richter power base, concentrating on satellite operations in surrounding states, but sooner or later they're going to have to head back north, attack the beast at the head. If facing down distant cousins has been rough – and it has, though they've been far more willing to shoot to kill than he has – seeing his uncles and his stepmother again will be brutal.

They get an overnight bus to Pochutla, for no better reason than Shatterstar liked the picture postcard of a long, golden sand beach he saw taped up on the wall in the bus station. It's a good choice; small enough that they'll know if reinforcements get sent down from Guadalajara, big enough that they'll be able to blend in with the crowd, or as much as Shatterstar ever does, anyway. It's a grim, seven hour journey on the winding, dusty road, crammed into the back of an overcrowded bus with no air conditioning, but even so it's nice being squeezed into a double seat with Star, their sides pressed together and fingers _just_ touching, and no one to think anything of it. Rictor barely thinks anything of it himself, anymore, after all these months of sharing makeshift quarters and equally makeshift beds.

They get lucky tonight, though, because while Rictor closes his eyes and drifts, head pillowed on Star's shoulder, Shatterstar prattles on in perfect Spanish with the old lady across the aisle from them. He'd won her favour early on, easily lifting her many bags into the space above her seat and balancing the last on his own lap. Rictor had been annoyed at first, and then felt bad for grumbling when it turned out to contain an earthenware pot full of tamales, huge squares wrapped in banana leaves, Oaxaca style, instead of corn husks, full to bursting with pork in red salsa and still warm, that she'd insisted on sharing. She's on her way home from visiting her son, who is studying marine biology at the _Universidad del Mar_ , she tells Star proudly, the first in the whole family to do so.

By the time they reach town she has agreed to rent them her son's old room for the summer, and Star smiles smugly and switches to Cadre to tell Rictor that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, and God only knows where he learned _that_ expression. They carry Senora Ortiz' bags from the bus station to her house, a typical one storey concrete block, painted a pale green. Her obvious pride and joy is the garden, which even in the pale light of dawn is clearly bursting with every kind of brightly coloured and scented flower, and after dropping her bags in the entranceway to the house she leads them down a long path to a sleepout at the back of the property. It's far enough away from the main house that they won't have to worry about privacy, and Rictor has to concede that Star knew exactly what he was doing after all.

She's apologetic that there's only one bed, _and you, so tall_ , she says to Star, but they assure her that they will make do. It's a simple space: one long rectangular room with the bed and a dresser at one end, a couch and tv against the long wall, and a shower and toilet through a door at the far end. There's a tiny kitchenette set up on the wall opposite the couch, just a hotplate and a sink, but between them they barely know how to make eggs so that's not exactly a dealbreaker. Senora Ortiz agrees to do their laundry once a week, but sternly points out a dustpan and brush under the sink and tells them to keep their own space tidy.

She heads back to the main house, and Rictor collapses on the bed. Even this early in the morning it's hot; it'll probably reach 100 degrees by midday. He closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing in the still, humid air. There's a rustle of cloth and the sound of zips and buckles as Shatterstar shucks his boots and jacket, then he feels Star pulling off his own shoes.

"Sssh," Star says, as he manhandles him into a more comfortable position and curls up behind him. "Go back to sleep."

It should be too hot to have another body plastered to his, but it's Star, and having Star next to him always feels right. He lets himself drift off again. When he wakes up it's mid afternoon and Star is nowhere to be seen. He gets up and makes use of the facilities, showering off the dust and sweat of several days' travel, then changes into clean clothes. There's nothing else to do so he switches on the television and watches an omnibus edition of several telenovela episodes. It's hard to follow the plot without knowing who any of the characters are, but it appears that the heroine is pregnant and any one of a number of men could be the father.

Star gets back just as she accepts a proposal of marriage from the brother of her chief rival, and cheerfully explains the backstory as he portions out food he'd picked up from the street vendors in town, iguana tamales of all things, and venison in yellow mole, both local specialties. It's crazy how invested he is in the lives and loves of even the most obscure characters, but he started watching in the first place to learn Spanish to converse with Rictor in confidence, which will always mean the world to him, so he just sits back and lets Star's voice wash over him. There are worse things in life than being curled up on the couch with your best friend, belly full of good food, and between them they've experienced many of them. This vacation was a good idea.

The next few days pass in much the same way, sleeping through the worst of the midday heat, then venturing out in the slightly cooler afternoons to stroll the shops and food stalls, and sit in the plaza and drink a _horchata_ or _agua fresca_ with the locals and watch the tourists who flood off the buses every day, desperately seeking the only bank for miles around, and stocking up on cheap liquor and other necessities before heading back to the beach.

On the fourth day, Shatterstar announces that he, too, wishes to experience this phenomenon called the beach. Rictor raises a token protest about blowing their cred with the townsfolk, acting like tourists after all, but his heart isn't in it. There was no entertainment other than the arena on Mojoworld, and they never had a lot of time for what Cable would have called _self indulgence_ when they were in New York either. He has no idea if Star has ever even seen the ocean.

Star insists on Zipolite rather than Puerto Angel, which earns them a raised eyebrow from the _colectivo_ taxi driver, but he claims to have done his research, and it's his day anyway, so Rictor lets him have his way. He regrets it instantly when they arrive and he realises it's a nude beach, hundreds of toned, beautiful bodies stretched out on towels and blankets and loungers for what seems like miles in either direction.

He punches Star in the arm as hard as he can, but Star just grins at him like an asshole and starts stripping off. It's technically nothing Rictor hasn't seen before, in locker rooms and showers, and their own shared living spaces this past year, but there's a difference between getting a glimpse out of the corner of your eye and being confronted with it right up close and personal, so to speak.

Star is as gorgeous as ever; more so, in fact. His genetically engineered body was designed for combat, but if it had been constructed to reflect the most fevered of Rictor's secret, unacknowledged fantasies, Mojo's scientists could not have done a better job. He's tall, and lean, and lightly muscled, just enough to look strong and healthy, not bulky or ungainly. He's finally begun to tan, after a year in the Mexican sun, and while he'll never be as dark as Rictor – his healing factor is too efficient for that – his pale skin has taken on a soft, golden glow that suits him well. His long hair has bleached out as well, from its usual reddish gold to a much blonder shade, but the light trail on his lower belly is still bright red where it leads down to-

Rictor tears his eyes away abruptly and looks to the horizon, to the flame trees with their bright scarlet flowers, the contrast with the blue of the sky so sharp it sears the eyes, to the line of shacks and bungalows that house the infinity of happy, excited tourists pouring onto the beach, until he gets himself back under control. That way lies nothing but humiliation and disaster.

"Julio," Shatterstar says quietly.

Rictor looks back at him, and he's smiling, but gently, no trace of mockery in his face.

"Come on," he says, taking Rictor's arm in one of his big hands. "I want to try the water."

Rictor sighs, and offers a silent prayer of thanks that Star remains as oblivious to human social cues as he has always been. He strips off his own clothes slowly, and contemplates leaving his boxer shorts on, but then he'll really look like a _pendejo_ , the only prude on the beach, so he shucks them quickly, without thinking more than he has to, and moves at a brisk pace down to the water.

Star's awkward at first, unaccustomed to the feeling of buoyancy and the movement of the waves, and copping a few serves of salt water straight in the face, but he soon gets the hang of it, and with his hollow bones he's a natural, developing a strange hybrid stroke that would please no swimming instructor but propels him through the water with his usual speed and grace. They swim out far enough to get away from the laughing, shrieking crowds, and float on their backs in the warm water, at peace with the world.

Star tells him about the beach, and it seems he really had done his research, after all, inquiring about its history from the stall holders in the marketplace. Some of them had said that the name Zipolite means "beach of the dead" in Zapotec; others had laughed and disagreed, insisting it simply meant "hilly" in Nahuatl. Star, naturally, had been enamoured of the first story, and decided he had to see for himself. There are no ghosts in evidence, however, beyond the friendly ones of the hippies who made the place famous in the 60s and 70s, and those they've brought with them, but even they are silent for a day.

It is, in fact, a very nearly perfect day, and when they've had their fill of the water they collapse on the beach and sleep in the sun, skin tight with salt, waking only to buy food and drinks from the overpriced selection offered by hawkers with laden baskets, and then drifting off again. They get the last bus back to town, and Rictor can feel the beginning of a wicked sunburn, but he wouldn't change it for anything.

He feels slightly less well disposed to the world when his aching skin makes it impossible to sleep that night. Even Star is a soft pink and noticeably warm to the touch, so he knows if he gets up and looks at himself in the tiny mirror in the bathroom he'll be the colour of a broiled lobster. Instead he lies like a corpse, unmoving, on the bed, eyes firmly closed, and moans pitifully.

Shatterstar eventually can bear it no longer, and goes up to the main house to ask Senora Ortiz for help, over Rictor's half hearted protestations that she'll be asleep by now. She bustles into the room a few moments later, grumbling under her breath, but she takes one look at Rictor and her motherly heart has mercy on them both. She fetches aloe cuttings from her own garden, and shows Star how to squeeze the liquid out and rub it gently into his burning skin, covering the initial awkwardness by teasing him about the fact his _guero_ friend is better equipped to handle the Mexican sun than he is.

He accepts his ribbing in a silence more pained than good natured, and she pats him on the head and leaves them to it, whispering a few more instructions as she goes. Star sets to work with a gentleness and dedication that overrides all embarrassment, and as he diligently applies the ointment to every inch of his body, Rictor honestly doesn't know if it’s the aloe or the careful touch of Star's fingers that makes him feel better. Maybe it's both.

When he's finished, Star soaks the top sheet in cold water, as instructed, and lays it over Rictor, then gets up to shift the television so they can both see it from the bed, before carefully crawling in behind Rictor and perching on the very edge of the mattress. It can't be comfortable for him, but he just strokes Rictor's hair, perhaps the only part of him that doesn't hurt, with one hand, while he idly flips through channels on the remote with the other.

They catch the tail end of some cop show, and then the late movie starts. Rictor recognises it immediately by the theme music, _La Princesa Prometida_ , The Princess Bride. He's seen it a dozen times before, so he closes his eyes and just listens to the familiar dialogue. It's strange to hear it in badly dubbed Spanish, instead of English, and Castilian at that – Buttercup sounds like a forty year old chain smoker – but Shatterstar is instantly smitten with the story, and it's enjoyable enough to hear him gasping and exclaiming at all the right places, his sense of childlike wonder making him actually worry for Westley and Inigo both, that Rictor slips off to sleep happily, vows of vengeance and true love echoing in his ears.

The next day brings a merciful rain, and with it a break in the heat, but Shatterstar insists Rictor stay in bed, and he does so willingly. If Star feels guilty enough to wait on him hand and foot, well, he's an eighteen year old man, not a saint, and he'll let him, for a little while, at least. Star possibly has an ulterior motive of his own, anyway, as he takes advantage of Rictor's incapacitation to get in a workout, doing several thousand push-ups and sit-ups while Rictor lies there, feeling exhausted just watching him.

It's always a pleasant sight, watching Shatterstar balance on two fingers in nothing but his underwear, but it's even more entertaining today as Star intersperses the count with frequent exhortations of _"Hola, me llamo Inigo Montoya. Tu mataste a mi padre. Prepárate a morir."_ and even the odd _"Soy el temible pirata Roberts."_ and Rictor shamelessly lays back to enjoy the show.

When Shatterstar's exercised to the point that even _he_ has broken a sweat, he goes to shower and get dressed, then kneels at the side of the bed to reapply the aloe treatment. In truth, the worst of the burn is passing, and Shatterstar's touch is back to being arousing rather than relaxing, but when Rictor wriggles and tries to demur, Star ignores him, finishing the job before kissing him gently on the forehead, and whispering _como desées_ , before heading off to town in search of food.

Rictor doesn't think anything of it at the time, just glad that he's gotten away with yet another embarrassing reaction, but when Star gets back with breakfast it's all that he will say to him for the rest of the day. Rictor asks him for a drink of water and he says _como desées_ and fetches one. Rictor asks him to resoak the topsheet and he says _como desées_ and takes it to the bathroom. Rictor asks him for a hand getting up off the bed and he says _como desées_ and grasps his forearm.

It's that third time, when he's standing close enough to Shatterstar to feel his body heat on his already flushed skin, hands still clasped together, looking right into his hopeful silver eyes, that he realises what Star's _really_ trying to tell him in his own, inimitable, way. He almost can't believe it, after so long, but he takes a chance, like Buttercup stepping out of the palace window at the end of the movie, confident that Westley will catch her, and leans in towards Shatterstar. Star smiles, and pulls him closer, pulls him onto his toes so he can reach more easily, and kisses him.

It's tentative, and clumsy, and Star's fingers pressing on the still raw skin of his back are painful, but it's Peter Falk's unmistakeable voice Rictor hears in his head as he kisses back, no dubbing required. _Since the invention of the kiss there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind._


End file.
